NEW ARRIVALS

A dazzling 11-track journey through the rich, handpicked gems of Numero’s finest. Blending the timeless warmth of classic soul with a fresh, modern twist, Eccentric Modern Soul delivers an expansive soundscape that feels both nostalgic and new.

“Do you need samples?”

We all ask ourselves this from time to time, and thankfully, Frollen Music Library (FML) has you covered.

‘001-015’ is a “best of” compilation celebrating the first 15 sample packs made by Naarm/Melbourne (AUS) based Frollen Music Library. Launching in late 2021, the sample house has since been featured in productions by ScHoolboy Q, Leon Thomas, Devin Malik and more.

This retrospective “best of” traverses a wide range of styles and moods to appeal to every music enthusiast as well as producers and songwriters alike. Whether it’s bouncing Hip Hop beats or evocative cinematic etudes, FML’s 3-piece house band, comprising Henry Jenkins, Darvid Thor and Hudson Whitlock have a deep love and respect for many musical styles. FML’s diverse catalogue takes cues from the ‘Third Stream’ composer David Axelrod on their ‘Sharpen Your Axe’ (FML009) pack, as well as drawing upon cinematic themes from 60’s and 70’s Italian film score composers a la Ennio Morricone and Riz Ortolani, as heard on ‘The Fretted Neck’ (FML006). There are 90’s New York boom bap beats found in ‘Golden’ (FML013), as well as synthesiser music inspired by Tonto, which is showcased in the ‘Nina’s Exploding Brain’ (FML014) pack, utilising a locally made synthesiser from Melbourne Instruments.

Jenkins, Thor and Whitlock have been playing in bands and producing music for their local music scene for the last 15 years. Recording and performing with The Cactus Channel, Karate Boogaloo, Mo’Ju, Surprise Chef and many many more. Not only is this brand-new LP a great musical collage worthy of any music library enthusiast, but also functions as a tremendous sampler demonstrating the many styles of FML. Fast, slow, sweet AND sour!

In the fall of 2022, celebrated UK chill-out institution Seahawks landed in Los Angeles for the first time in their 15-year history, with plans to record a sweeping new age downtempo “exploration of visionary California.” Instead, they immediately fell ill with flu (Fowler collapsed next to a taco truck; 911 was called), and were bedridden for the better part of a week. Upon recovering, they resituated at the synthesizer sanctuary of Brian Foote (Peak Oil, Kranky, Leech), channeling their post-sickness psychedelia into one of the band’s lushest and most elevated creations to date: Time Enough For Love. Inspired by the “groove and mood” of Harry Nilsson demos, as well as its wider 70’s wavelength – Rhodes, Wurlitzer, wood paneling – Seahawks transposed their classic post-rave ambient exotica onto a warm and woozy Golden State palette. Buoyed by the liquid touch of English maestro Kenny Dickenson on keys, the results rank high among the duo’s smoothest and most multi-sensory voyages. “Sail Across The Moon” delivers on its title, a simmering, phaser-smeared cruise through the beauty of the night. “Messengers” echoes the cosmic lounge of Air’s Moon Safari, shuffling, weightless, and ethereal, while “Falling Deep” reaches for the stars, pure cascading bliss, the ecstatic moment writ large. The album skews steadily more astral as it progresses, drifting towards jazzy, galactic outer reaches. “Like A Grain Of Sand” opens with a spoken sample by the celebrated late American poet Rachel Sherwood (“The children watch, breathless / with the birds / They feel an emanation / from this shuddering place”), before taking flight on a Balearic trip through island house, PM Dawn gold dust, upright bass meditation, and kaleidoscopic light. A remix of the title track by Chicago trio Purelink closes the record in a suitably subdued and skittery state of mind. Time Enough For Love radiates color, complexity, and positivity, infused by the “life enhancing” nature of the band's time in Los Angeles – sunsets, sound systems, and sativa, framed by coastlines and cloudbanks, the city’s mystic sprawl glittering beneath purple dusk.

Originally named „Merz“, this album should have been Merzbow's first vinyl release, but never came out on vinyl. So actually "Yantra Material Action" is „Material Action 1“, recorded in 1981 - with sticker and insert

The clear vinyl version is only available in the limited 99 copies boxset "artefAKTs from the Early Japanese Experimental Noise Music Scene"

This album was released in 1970 as one of the Victor “Jazz in Japan” series. We are Japanese, so I think we have to make something that only Japanese can do. These were the words of Akira Miyazawa during this period. It was inevitable that Miyazawa would choose his hometown, the place where he was born and raised, as the motif for his work, which only a Japanese person could create.

London rapper, poet, and producer John Glacier releases his long-awaited debut album, Like A Ribbon, on . The album chronicles Glacier's life from a simple upbringing in Hackney, in the northeast corner of the capital's central London, to growing up at a phenomenal rate, with the lead single, “Found,” a floaty sound with a powerful message of overcoming daily struggles. Participating artists include Kwes Darko, the producer of the film, as well as Flume, Andrew Aged, Eartheater, Sampha, and others, all of whom complement John Glacier's unique musical style. John Glacier's sound, which combines contemporary yet dreamlike electronic tones with subtle beats, has the ability to draw out the listener's emotional depths and draw them in.

This reissue of the “Collection” is limited to just 299 hand-numbered copies, making it a truly special release for fans and collectors alike. Encased in a beautifully crafted wooden box, this deluxe edition features ten LPs, each adorned with original collages by Masami Akita, printed in black silkscreen on Cordenons Astropack ivory cardboard sleeves. Accompanying the vinyl is a 12-inch booklet, also printed on the same high-quality cardboard as the cover, containing 32 pages filled with previously unpublished photographs, as well as artwork and collages by Masami Akita from 1981-83. This booklet includes exclusive notes by Lasse Marhaug, Thurston Moore and Masami Akita along with a unique interview of Jim O’Rourke with Masami Akita.

The long-awaited DJ Sprinkles reworkings of Will Long’s Acid Trax finally arrive on vinyl, beginning with this first instalment in a three-part EP series via Comatonse. Mastered by Terre Thaemlitz and cut by Rashad Becker, EP 1 features DJ Sprinkles’ ‘Acid Dog’ remix – a resoundingly trippy, sensual 11-minute journey of padded subs, shimmering percussion and richly layered 303 tones. One of the most immersive entries in the Sprinkles catalogue, it’s club music with both emotional depth and hypnotic power.

On the flip, Long’s original takes a more minimal approach, delivering a meditative groove that floats raw drum machine rhythms and restrained 303 sequences in wide-open space. Both tracks embrace the ascetic, introspective aesthetics that define this project.

Note: The correct tracks on this 12” are ‘Acid Trax N’ and ‘Acid Dog (DJ Sprinkles Remix)’ – centre labels are incorrect.

Artwork by Terre Thaemlitz.

CEM has gained international notoriety over the past years for bewitching club and festival audiences alike with his feverish, polymorphic and richly referential DJ sets. For his debut full-length album, FORMA, the Berlin-based Herrensauna founder momentarily departs the dancefl oor, instead contributing a refl ective and at times menacing compositional study on terror and temporal anachronism for our perplexing times. All six pieces were originally commissioned to accompany Portuguese artist Mauro Ventura’s performative installation of the same name, shown fi rst at the Volksbühne in 2022; the work engaged notions of labor and repetition through a multiplicity of gestural and corporeal interventions. Featured prominently on FORMA are the sound of bells—doorbells, meditative bowls, farm cowbells, Shinto bells—a motif CEM distills repeatedly onto the record to presage and work through both the violent specter of order and discipline, as well as the reparative qualities of harmony and retreat.

Opening the album with poignant synths, granulated bell hits, and double bass string drones is “The Calling”, which summons listeners into a rattling and twisting soundscape that dichotomously channels alertness and serenity at once. “Bells Corrupt”, in turn, transforms the comforting chime of bells into an alarming and insistent pattern as it evolves in pitch and form, recalling the anxious fi lm grammar of Italian giallo legends Lucio Fulci and Dario Argento or Czech animator Jan Švankmajer. “An Industrial Satire” is conceived as an homage to experimentalist Limpe Fuchs, known for her Dadaist use of self-made, metallic instruments and strings. The second part of the piece takes a staggering turn with the addition of ghaita—a Northern Moroccan double reed horn with a series of holes—sampled from the Master Musicians of Joujouka’s collaborative 1971 album with Brian Jones and layered alongside CEM’s own percussion work. The horn elements—linked to the ancient fertility rites of Pan—here culminate in a melodic embodiment of panic and celebration. “Statue Garden” is a minimalist organ drone piece interlaced with fi eld recordings accumulated through the musician’s recent travels across East Asia. Its dexterous balance of stillness and depth provides a contemplative interlude amidst the album’s vigour. The album closes on a provocative note with “The Sincerity Test” that features Berlin-based Lithuanian performance artist Gertrūda Gilytė, whose wry spoken-word intervention mirrors the kind of grotesque, deluded ‘positive affirmations’ that abounds on social media, suggesting a relatedness between narcissistic online speak and the rise of reactionary politics.

CEM is no stranger to the ever-threatening past and present of fascism, having been raised in Vienna within a Turkish-Kurdish immigrant household. FORMA thus emerges as a militant sonic offering and, through its razor-sharp interweaving of atmosphere and texture, conjures a fractured, albeit elegiac, space of possibility wherein time is out of joint and the circular motion of history with a capital H is dizzyingly thrown into disarray. As our world rushes forward into the past, casting dissonant spells might turn out to be our last rempart.

"A growing, single-minded confidence in his thing practically makes time stand still and places us right in the moment and momentum of the music. Crucially, whilst clearly referencing foundational styles, it’s a masterclass in innovation not imitation" - boomkat

Carrier presents Tender Spirits, the third turn on his eponymous series that explores his abstractions at its most sparse and cerebral.

Space maintains great purpose for Guy Brewer, having experimented with this previously for multiple drum-focused missives as Carrier. On his latest release, he treads deeper into the furthest regions of dub deconstruction, with Tender Spirits offering a serene path to the inbetween.

Across 8+ minutes, Light Candles, To Mark The Way moves towards the muted sublime; a gentle half time’d bliss that ebbs and floats across the enveloping mist. Slow Punctures gradually returns to dusk, eerily surveying the hollowed-out remains of its dub architecture with an off-kilter lurch. Carpathian echoes further in stark reduction, a weightless atonal zone anchored by the abstracted pressure suspended within.

Tender Spirits tracks Carrier at exciting new parallels, unfurling his most ascendant and capacious music to date.

Narciso has been running parallel to most of his contemporaries, staying close to the main lane but researching in his own distinctive way. He takes pride in "being free from limitations and conventions. To me, music doesn't follow fixed rules; it is a field for experimentation, where any sound can be transformed into something pleasing to the ear". Depending on what one considers "pleasing", this is a pretty challenging set of tracks. The artist never loses the balance, though, mindful of a certain "dance" context in which this music thrives, but it is also that same context that is being constantly twisted and reshaped into other forms. Some of those provide fresh ground for others to follow; some are of such individuality that no one else dares disturbance; some quickly return to a safer way of communication.

"Diferenciado" does communicate, but like words can be changed to sound different and still mean the same, such are music and sound with Narciso. It's not about alienation of the listener nor alienation of the self from the surrounding areas. "I believe music is present in everything around us." And if anyone can say her/his/their music "reflects vision, experience and perception", you know the end result is not often surprising or even that different from previous examples. Well, we stand by "Diferenciado" in its obvious distinctiveness, and if all the blurb so far may read like a nervous justification it's just because of the excitement in helping put this out into the world.

As a founding element of RS Produções, where Nuno Beats, DJ Lima, DJ Nulo and Farucox are also found, Narciso has been contributing to a spiritual and creative atmosphere that permeates the environs of Lisbon where that golden, inspired air has to fight for space with many kinds of instability. The beauty and drama of opening tracks "Ziu Ziu" and "Cabelinho" (this one with mate Farucox) should be able to touch any sensitive soul that appreciates the quirkiness often attached to pure expression. As in "Pipipi" too, for example, where melody and rhythm gently and moodily lead you into a brief but sudden interruption feeling like a change into another state of being. Do not shy away. Narciso steps up as himself, not as representative of whatever or whoever.

Anchored by splintering syncopated beats and dramatic brass arrangements, 'TURBO MELTDOWN' is the forward-facing second chapter from HHY & The Kampala Unit - aka Portuguese sonic alchemist Jonathan Uliel Saldanha and Ugandan vocalist and horn player Florence Nandawula. The duo composed this one on the road, advancing the spiritual narrative they lavishly sketched out on 2020's 'Lithium Blast' and venturing into gloomier backstreets, adding cinematic pressure to their energetic fusion of mutant rhythms and apocalyptic fanfares.

Nandawula and Saldhana devised the project as a way to alloy their shared interest in diverse interconnected sounds - from gqom, jungle and funk to vintage horror soundtracks - and they view HHY & The Kampala unit as a collective effort. There's an extended cast on show here, with contributions from the Ugandan Homeland Brass Band's Kintu Jacob on trombone, and Congolese Afrofuturist collective Fulu Miziki's Sekelembele on percussion and vocals. On stage, they're also joined by dancer Junia and multidisciplinary artist Exocé Kasongo, both of whom help translate the collective's sonic concept into a hard-hitting, visceral experience.

Tense marching band snares lead us ominously into opener 'APEXPREDATOR', cut with gqom-inspired percussive snaps and backed up by Nandawula's audacious horns, that split the difference between Funkadelic and Prince. It's music that tramples over any pre-conceived genre boundaries, fitting gurgling AutoTuned adlibs and noisy electrical interference between its surging kicks. This time around, HHY & The Kampala unit train their gaze on storytelling, composing a spine-chilling, sci-fi tinged soundtrack to a disturbing dystopian future.

On 'NEON VEIL COLLAPSE', Nandawula's reverberating trumpet and trombone blasts perforate a dense mass of woody traditional rhythms that Saldanha interrupts with rave-ready hoover womps, and she captures the spectacle of Akira Ifukube's iconic 'Godzilla' OST (famously sampled by Pharoahe Monch on 'Simon Says') on 'RESONANCE RIOT', adding some monster movie zest to Saldanha's pneumatic ballroom-like thrust. 'TURBO MELTDOWN' is an album that never stops advancing, crashing through the neon-lit wreckage of a doomed civilization and orchestrating a party at the end of the world.

Prolific Portuguese musician and visual artist Jonathan Uliel Saldanha - of HHY & The Macumbas/The Kampala Unit - might be best known for his noisy, experimental excursions, but he's long been fascinated by the possibilities offered by the human voice. He's already composed a slew of choral pieces, such as 'Khōrus Anima', 'Del' and 'Plethora', and his last, 'Santa Viscera Tua', was an ambitious project for 150 voices. On 'Kembo', he builds on these experiences significantly, examining the commonality and shared spirituality of vocal music alongside the Kingdom Ulfame Choir, a seven-piece Uganda-based group of Congolese singers. The collaboration began at Nyege Nyege's Kampala studio, where Saldanha and the choir took the time to figure out their direction, singing together in an imagined language concocted from elements of Lingala, Swahili, Kikongo and French. Considering pre-linguistic communication, liturgical music and glossolalia (better known as speaking in tongues), their improvisations evolved into trances, with Saldanha's discreet electronic augmentations used only to accent the melodies and harmonies.

This process stands out immediately on opening track 'Boya Kotala' when the group trade poignant solos over Saldanha's aerated choral drones and ominous synthesized bass. The voices are suspended in time, cautiously referencing sacred music but disregarding the expected tropes, leaving hypnotic vapors that gust through the entire suite. 'Tokumisa Nzambe' is remarkably different, adding a brittle electro-acoustic pulse to the choir's tangled phrases that are ornamented with rhythmic chants and layered melodic outbursts. "Hallelujah," they repeat on 'Hosana', reaching back to familiar praise songs and building to a jubilant crescendo of voices. And later, on 'Nzambe Bolingo', the group's impassioned recitations are threaded through chopped, percussive vocalizations and exhalations. Taking a brief breather, Kingdom Molongi's words coalesce into a calming lullaby on the hushed 'Emanuel', and their appreciation of classic soul and gospel fizzes to the surface on 'Maloba ya Motema Nangai' with virtuosic wordless phrases that speak to the roots of the music, not its contemporary application.

'Kembo' is an album that investigates not just the mutability of language itself, but time, wondering how words and themes are reshaped as they tumble through history, picking up influences from various folk traditions, idiosyncratic pop forms and diverse quasi-religious expressions. Most of all though, Kingdom Molongi manage to highlight the enduring relationship between the voice and the spirit, and the transformative power of choral music.

Julien Dechery follows his class entry for The Trilogy Tapes earlier this year with a haul of late 90’s and turn-of-the-century South Indian bangers for Good Morning Tapes, in transition from atmospheric, Timbland-influenced downbeats to disco, jungle, digidub and trip hop, adorned with copious amounts of bollywood vox.

Hailing from Tanzania's bustling cultural hub Dar Es Salaam - the biggest city in East Africa - young beatmaker DJ Travella is setting the breakneck pace for its musical evolution. He's been producing since he was just 10 years old and has already bent singeli into surprising new shapes, welding euphoric EDM breakdowns and earworm-y R&B riffs to the Tanzanian genre's frenetic rhythms. 'Twende' is a straight-to-the-point set of the producer's most requested secret weapons - four hyper-melodic floor fillers that were developed shortly after releasing his acclaimed debut album 'Mr Mixondo'. Featured on his popular Boiler Room performance, these tracks will be familiar to anyone who's managed to catch one of his sets.

Starting things out right with 'Trust', a wonky, festival-ready 170BPM ass shaker that shuffles a familiar singeli beat around wormy synths, Travella keeps things moving with the blink-and-you'll-miss-it 'Believe', a minute and a half of brassy pop fanfares and buzzing rhythms. On 'Mchakamchaka' he introduces quivering soukous guitar phrases into the mix, keeping up the momentum with crowd noise and pneumatic sound design vamps, and 'Vumbi Vumbi' slows things down, just a bit, splaying plasticky, acidic leads over blown-out syncopated beats. It's one for the feet, no doubt.

Recorded in Kampala, 'Mapambazuko' pairs Peruvian artist and researcher Alejandra Cárdenas (aka Ale Hop) with Congolese guitarist Titi Bakorta, who locate a balmy junction between their respective approaches. Bakorta's debut album 'Molende', released on Nyege Nyege Tapes in 2023, was an eccentric rumination on his years performing a unique fusion of Congolese soukous and folk sounds, and 'Mapambazuko' picks up where it left off, looping Bakorta's wiry guitar solos around Cárdenas' psychedelic Afro-Latin rhythms and fractured synths. Cárdenas' last run of albums have bounced her around the stylistic map: on the acclaimed 'Agua Dulce', she deconstructed traditional Peruvian rhythms with Laura Robles, while she traversed radically different territory on 2021's 'The life of Insects', imagining an abstract universe from the inside of a terrarium. All this experience - in pop music, electroacoustic experimentation and avant-garde minimalism - is applied to 'Mapambazuko' as she skews Bakorta's exuberant themes with subtle sound design elements and powerful, uncompromising drumwork.

Opener 'Bonne année' is a twitchy, effervescent party starter, with a frenetic rhythm from Cárdenas that gradually picks up grit, only enhancing the vivid soukous-inspired phrases from Bakorta. And on the title track, Bakorta's rubbery improvisations sound as if they're bouncing off Cárdenas' dissociated whirrs and squeals, while the duo's furious pulse holds their raw experimentation in check. Their worlds collide even more conspicuously on 'Una cumbia en Kinshasa', that identifies the similarities between psychedelic Peruvian cumbia and Congolese pop, and on 'Así baila el sintetizador' they ratchet up the tempo, smudging Bakorta's fictile riffs into Cárdenas' zesty oscillations. The acceleration only lets up on the album's gauzy finale 'Nitaangaza', where Bakorta plays dizzy psych-rock wails over Cárdenas' syrup-laced thuds and lopsided drones. And the album is filled out with three exclusive remixes. Kenyan sound artist KMRU strips the beat from 'Nitaangaza' and brings out its latent sensuality, adding light-headed pads and soft-hearted tones to re-contextualize the original track.

On her rework, Cárdenas augments 'Una cumbia en Kinshasa' with an even more belligerent rhythm, cutting further into Bakorta's glistening riffs and eventually guiding the track into chattering chaos. While Flora Yin-Wong marches towards the end credits with a sultry, percussive version of 'Así baila el sintetizador'. Slowing it down to a crawl and emphasizing the eerie, artificial landscape, Yin-Wong shines moonlight on Bakorta and Cárdenas' sun-baked grooves, providing the necessary wind-down as the party comes to an end.

The second volume of Nyege Nyege's career-spanning DJ Znobia retrospective, 'Inventor Vol. 2' continues the vital story of one of Africa's most influential artists - a producer, singer and DJ who's spent three decades inking his signature onto kuduro and tarraxinha. The label combed through Znobia's vast archives to assemble the four-volume set, picking out the most essential moments from over 700 tracks written between the late 1990s and the mid 2000s; these aren't just the expected dancefloor heaters either, but a sprawling anthology that shines a spotlight on Znobia's innovation and unhinged mastery.

On 'Inventor Vol. 2', Angola-born Sebastião Lopes' light-hearted sense of humor floats visibly to the surface. He samples the viral "Baby T-Pain" YouTube clip and flips it into a hypnotic wail on 'Choro do Corno', offsetting the melodic Auto-Tune layers with his idiosyncratic slowed-down kuduro thuds. Meanwhile, on the chaotic 'Beat Cursor', Znobia raids the Windows sound library, turning eerily familiar error chimes and message alert sirens into percussion that jerks and sways around urgent hand drum rolls and neck-snapping snares. But elsewhere, the magic that led vocal breakouts like 'Marimba' to cult status is thrust into the foreground.

Lopes' slippery, robotic voice curls through syrupy beats and FL Studio-powered electronic harp plucks on 'Sofre', mimics an early Talkbox on the electro-powered 'Dance Da Ma Ju' and shimmers into a soft, romantic coo on 'Monandengue'. Each track highlights the Angolan original's voracious appetite for experimentation, and expresses the parallels between Znobia's kuduro and tarraxinha innovations, and similar future-facing Afro-diasporic moves made in grime, early techno or Brazilian funk. Just check the wheezing synths, haunted flutes and hollow, driving percussion on 'Kuduro ou Hunderground', or the pizzicato blasts and garbled oscillations that shadow Os Bonitos' elastic rhymes on stand-out 'Wo Adji Wo'.

From humble beginnings, learning to mix with just a couple of semba LPs, DJ Znobia took his cues from local traditional sounds and used their groove to power a new musical movement. And with 'Inventor Vol. 2' we're provided with another piece of the puzzle, a sequence of visions that have provided the wider world with modernism, eccentricity and vision. We're still feeling the shockwaves, decades later.

Based in Kampala, Arsenal Mikebe are a groundbreaking Ugandan ensemble who playfully dance around the fringes of of acoustic and electronic music, infusing tempo-fluxed polyrhythms with dizzying chants and ghostly synthetic drones. The band is made up of percussionists Ssentongo Moses, Dratele Epiphany, Luyambi Vincent de Paul and was co-founded by Portugese sonic alchemist Jonathan Uliel Saldanha, together they straddle a unique custom instrument dreamt up by Ugandan master sculptor Henry Segamwenge, better known simply as Sega. By reverse engineering Roland's iconic TR-808 beatbox, they devised a steel-cast "percussion machine" that allows Arsenal Mikebe to seamlessly integrate bass-heavy electronic sounds into their frenetic performances, and it's this device that lies at the core of their debut album.

'DRUM MACHINE' is a rhythmic masterclass that's impossible to slot into any particular niche or other. Moses, Vincent and Dratele's kinetic beats appear to bisect each other, slipping between time signatures as fluidly as they pierce the membrane between the organic and the digital. On opening track 'Okuleekaana', brushy high-end hits coalesce into quivering patterns that bounce off the trio's guttural chants before the track's shuttled into peak-time by an ear-splitting distorted kick. Harsh death metal-style growls echo and spiral into the distance, and Sega's percussion machine is nudged into overdrive, its smorgasbord of distinctive pulses lifted skyward by glassy, evocative synths and resonant twangs.

It's extreme music, in a sense, but Arsenal Mikebe command startling dynamics, veering off course whenever possible. 'Omuzimu' is the perfect example, a labyrinth of itchy rhythms and anxious pauses that only slowly converges into a discernible beat, with its jerky bumps and muted crashes underpinned by eerie, almost inaudible B-movie whines and stifled shouts. And on the lengthy 'Boiller Omukka', the trio sing soulfully and wordlessly over feverish hollow thuds and cowbell knocks, referencing traditional Ugandan song forms while simultaneously excavating the bones of techno. It all builds up to the rubbery, intense 'Bell Ghost', that carves energetic vocal snippets into an undulating rhythmic concertina and fractalizes the atmosphere with swirling, psychedelic flutes and haunted intonations.

Since the release of 2021's 'Bubbling Inside' - a collection of Dutch wunderkind Guillermo Schuurman's most vital early productions, plus a few recent additions - the DJ and producer has been touring incessantly, introducing the wider world to his feet-forward, hybrid style. Rooted in the Netherlands' Afro-diasporic bubbling sound, it's an effervescent cocktail of dancehall, electro, EDM and R&B that fizzed to the surface back in the late 1980s, dominating Den Haag's vibrant club scene in the '90s and '00s. Spurred on by his uncle DJ Chippie, who helped co-found the genre, De Schuurman revitalized the movement in the late '00s, and has been instrumental in bringing bubbling back to the main stage, puzzling out its intersections with trap, techno and beyond.

'Bubbling Forever' is another unforgettable arsenal of acidic laser synths, Antillean tambu percussion and swirling vocal snippets, all anchored to an all-important dancehall swing - the backbone of the sound since its earliest days in Den Haag. Like its predecessor, the collection is a wide-reaching set of vintage cuts and twitchy new productions, kicking off with the curled 'Raw', an immaculate introduction to De Schuurman's world: cybernetic electronic swooshes, backed by rattling percussion and the kind of kicks that don't cut, they bounce. And although it's relatively hotfooted, De Schuurman's music is blessed with unexpected lightness, coaxing movement sensually rather than demanding it. On 'Stylez Two' for example, fiery screams and breakneck beats are disencumbered by steel drum chimes and cheery whistles, splitting the mood between the sweatbox and the carnival.

But De Schuurman's greatest talent is his ability to absorb ideas from all across the musical map. 'Scratchin' fuses urgent turntablist scrapes with nostalgic 8-bit bleeps, and on 'Bubbling Meets Kaseko', he teams up with DJ Electro to blend big-room air horns and wobbly synths with traditional Surinamese melodies and percussion. He even brings bubbling OG DJ Chuckie along on 'Gangster Sht 2', flipping rap samples and stuttering ATL trap percussion into a whirlwind peak-time banger. And there even a few moments when De Schuurman takes a breather and turns down the tempo a little: he pulls back on 'Fucked Up Industrie', layering tangy lead zaps over a hiccuping Caribbean step, and leads the album out horizontally with 'Fashion Week', curving plasticky flutes around piercing woodblock cracks.

Bubbling might be approaching its fourth decade, but with producers like De Schuurman constantly breathing new life into the formula, it's not about to disappear any time soon. 'Bubbling Forever' is some of the most viscous, energetic and original dancefloor material you're likely to hear this year. Play loud!

Growing up in Uganda, multi-disciplinary artist Ian Nnyanzi (aka Masaka Masaka) always knew he wanted to make music, he just needed enough time and breathing room to figure out what exactly his contribution had to be. He cut his teeth fashioning rudimentary hip-hop beats at a friend's studio on Makindye, a hill that overlooks Kampala's balmy Murchison Bay, and quickly realized that he wanted more. "Out here, everyone seems okay to listen to the same thing," he explains, and Nnyanzi wasn't interested in following the crowd. During regular commutes across the city, his mind was being cracked open by sounds from Dean Blunt, Slauson Malone, Arca, Jpegmafia and Vegyn; he knew he needed to show Kampala something similarly distinct.

'Barely Making Much' is a sprawling, ambitious album that's as sculptural as it is explorative, reaching through genre membranes and refusing to stay still for a second. Masaka Masaka wrote it over a fragmented two year period at Nyege Nyege's Kampala studio, and tapped into a jumble of interconnected sounds, from jungle and experimental hip-hop to techno and smoked-out, dubwise ambient music. He was particularly absorbed by the loose, open-minded production style he heard from Manchester's Sockethead, who makes an appearance on 'Before I go', a frayed tapestry of stuttering snares and floury breaks that billows into jazzy euphoria.

On 'cut right through', Masaka Masaka bends fictile piano hits through a lattice of Afro-Brazilian-style vocal chops, trap hi-hat rolls and serrated, synthesized bass thumps. Airy and energetic, the track makes an unexpected left turn when the hats transform into insectoid rasps that cushion a woody hand drum patter. Elsewhere, Nnyanzi isn't afraid to go straight for the jugular: on 'elv9t' he sets atmospheric, back room pads against booming, soundsystem-ready Southern rap subs, and on the kinetic 'let me out', he remolds hard techno in his image, knocking the 4/4 kick off grid to perplex seasoned dancers, and hammering the nail in further with swirling, psychedelic synth fuzz.

Even when Masaka Masaka's working in a more contemplative mode - like on the hypnotic title track and the fragile cinematic finale 'it's okay to dance alone' - he maintains the momentum, swirling otherworldly vocal loops and erratic percussion into pools of melted ambience. 'Barely Making Much' is a charming, hyperactive debut that wears its influences on its sleeve, playing like a lysergic, literate mixtape packed with layers and subtle gestures. Cool-headed and mysterious, it exposes the twilit side of the Kampala underground.

A twisted web of diverse musical references and puzzling ambiguities, NET GALA's debut full-length is either a noise album that's aimed squarely at the dancefloor or a future-proofed club transmission that's been muddled and obscured by incomprehensible distortions - maybe it's both. The title has been on the South Korean producer's mind since 2020, a tongue-in-cheek reference not just to the Korean-English (Konglish) pronunciation of Galápagos and NET GALA's queer identity, but to "Galápagos Syndrome", a term to describe isolated, localized developments within global businesses. In NET GALA's hands, it's an apt metaphor for both their idiosyncratic, hybrid sound and their similarly distinctive dissection of queerness away from the stifling structures of the global north. And across 11 frenetic, eccentric tracks, they reconfigure loose genre signifiers and queer cultural references, figuring out what these motifs might mean within a new framework. There are few entrenched definitions in South Korea, which gives NET GALA with a relatively blank canvas to paint an enigmatic sonic landscape that provides more questions than answers.

'Galapaggot' develops a sound NET GALA has been diligently refining over the last few years. They cut their teeth as a member of the local LGBTQ collective Shade Seoul, playing regularly at the notorious Cakeshop venue, and after releasing their dazzling first EP '[re:FLEX*ion]' on NBDKNW in 2019, spent time researching Shinpageuk, an early 20th century melodramatic theatrical style, to heighten the drama of 2021's SVBKVLT-released '신파 SHINPA'. This time around, they take an even broader view, surveying how far they're able to push dance music before it shatters into pieces. Samples are shoehorned into unseemly places, and snares and hats - the primary signifiers of many club sub-genres - have been eliminated, or swapped with alternate sounds. The result is an album that pulses with a familiar energy, but sounds completely unconventional. Nods to footwork, ballroom, grindcore and hard trance are obscured with jagged sonic contortions and hyperactive rhythmic quirks, ripped up and assembled into dazzling new shapes.

Punk/grindcore artist Supermotel K steps in to scream '90s and '00s Korean gay slang on 'The Dog', vocalizing sensually over NET GALA's galloping, blown-out kicks and trance-inducing synth cycles, and on 'Rac Cap Cu', NET GALA taps Vietnamese collective Rắn Cạp Đuôi to help elevate their epic club collage of grainy, militaristic rolls and celestial chimes, forming the track around a guitar riff from drummer Zach Sch. And NET GALA puts their own mark on ballroom with the pneumatic 'KATRINAKATRINAKATRINA' and 'Ha Dance'-approximating 'Cistem Boom', using the genre's rhythmic pulse and singular momentum as a springboard to jack up their quirky sound designs and and harsh distortions. On opening track 'Joappa' and its follow-up 'Paran', NET GALA injects fierceness and drama into footwork with frenetic tuned percussion and cynical eagle calls, and they push the volume to 11 on 'Warp This Pussy (For Kitty)', a cacophonous, jerky dancefloor weapon that's led by a playful vocal call.

Disturbing politics with humor and mischievous defiance in the face of misunderstanding, NET GALA makes a powerful statement with 'Galapaggot'. It's a bold album that ignores comfortable aesthetic stereotypes in favor of proposing a cunning new direction for Korean electronic music. And although it might be sometimes jarring, it turns frustration and uncertainty into a rallying call for the world's most nebulous fringes.

Made up of four lengthy hallucinogenic incantations, Het Zweet's first self-titled tape was originally released in 1983 and shouldn't be confused with the later 1987-released album of the same name. The project was conceived by Dutchman Marien Van Oers, who sadly passed away in 2013, leaving behind a breadcrumb trail of mysterious, ritualistic deployments pieced together using an arsenal of home-made instruments. And 'Het Zweet' finds Van Oers at his most mystifying and most primal, forming rudimentary sounds into surging, percussive atmospheres that peer back towards ancestral rhythmic geometries and caking his repetitions in ferric, industrial-era dirt. The name itself means "sweat" in Dutch, and there's an identifiably herculean quality to Van Oers' mantas - these aren't simply loops, by any means, but contemplative feats of endurance that reward patient, deep listeners.

Opening track 'Vocus' is the album's most haunted stretch, almost 12 minutes of spectral decelerated gloop that infuses a sequence of chants with the dilatory, caliginous energy of doom metal. There's an almost monastic quality to the pitch-skewed synths that introduce the composition, but that's quickly interrupted by molasses slow vocal cycles that rumble enigmatically next to Van Oers' barely audible vocalizations. The artist's kinetic drumming is thrust into the foreground on 'Tribus', but the ritual quality never disappears, his cyclic intonations adding color to the pebbly pots 'n pans cracks and cavernous oscillations. It's music that lodges itself between Muslimgauze and Z'EV, crafted for patient listeners who can perceive the elemental grooves lying just beneath Van Oers' trance-like patterns and discombobulating effects.

On 'Tribus', Van Oers intensifies the magick, playing a languid, lop-sided beat that twangs as it pierces the red, creating its own eerie distortion. Unmistakably psychedelic gear, it breaks down into wisps of guttural, groaning white noise and temple chimes that Van Oers uses to catch his breath before bellowing into a foghorn-like home-made pipe and rebooting the rhythm. And the closer 'Indus' is the album's most focused, starkest stretch, almost 15 minutes of gymnastic drumwork that's accompanied by a vocal mantra that simmers softly in the background. Over four decades later, 'Het Zweet' is still startlingly unique material; not quite industrial, not quite dark ambient and definitely not new age, it's music that's plugged into cultural history, re-imagining long-forgotten ceremonies as a feat of physical and spiritual endurance for both the performer and the listener.

Groggy, engrossing new work from Ulla under their newly minted U.e. tag, riffing to the sublime on a set of (mostly) acoustic reveries that tap into the kind of smokey vapours favoured by the likes of Vincent Gallo, Voice Actor, Jonnine. Oh aye, it’s a special one.

A new year, label, album and handle for Ulla, a multifaceted artist who has draped our pages with wonder, under numerous aliases and collabs, for almost a decade. On ‘Hometown Girl’ they distill transience and flux into a quiet set of chamber works subtly resembling the room recorded nuance of their ‘Jazz Plates’ side with Perila - here taken a step further into more elusive, low-lit dimensions.

In a mode that’s wistful and melancholic, listening to the album’s dozen discrete pieces feels like leafing thru a journal of hand-written notes, reflecting on the feelings that come with separation from loved ones and displacement from familiarity. Ulla performed and recorded all of the instruments themselves, lending a tangible tactility to layered arrangements of woodwind, keys, strings, drums and voice, lightly speckled with electronics and perfused with open window field recordings. 

They locate a crackling frisson of personality in the voice notes and day-dreaminess of their mottled inscapes, gauzily demarcating lines between past and present selves. In that aesthetic and approach we can also hear similarities to Jonnine’s blue-skied ‘Southside Girl’ or crys cole’s poetic sensuality, often leaning into the domestic surreal.

A frayed, opening salutation ‘Good Morning’ signals a delirious half hour in Ulla’s company, variously swaying to the downstroked jazz swing of a ‘Lavender (NF)’ spritzed with clarinet, whilst ‘Froggy Explorer’ stirs the air like Jan Jelinek on a barely-there tip. The Basinski-esque fritz of degraded loops really snags the imagination along with a twinkling nightlight ‘Ball’, as the album opens out into its most fully resolved songs with a closing couplet of disarming wonders ‘Drawing of Me’, and a blurry ‘Mute’ that feels like Ulla 〜almost〜 reveals too much before retreating back into the shadows.

Six shimmering new tracks on the downtempo spectrum from the Khotin Industries Northern HQ. Peace to all listeners.